The Petroleum Factory
by Tyranno's girl
Summary: Have you ever wondered why, in the land of fast cars and super-stars, gasoline can cost up to an arm and a leg? What truly goes into a barrel of oil? What is the TRUE means of that sought after source of energy? Hints of RussAme, PruCan if you squint.


**A/N: Okay, it's official: my better works for the Hetalia fandom are definitely the horror-themed ones. Well, I do enjoy a bit of horror, grimdark (for all the bronies out there), gore... Anything except for creepypasta, I can't STAND creepypastas... **

**Anyway, more MLP-inspired stuff for you all. Yeah, kind of sad that I'm getting most of my ideas for Hetalia fics from MLP stuff that includes the murder and gruesome details of candy-colored equines. **

**Oh well, I should stop rambling and get on with it. This fic is inspired by the MLP fan song entitled 'The Rainbow Factory'. I will not say anything more than that.**

**One more, in my opinion, funny thing. On my last Hetalia work 'In The Darkness, There Was a Ragged Cough' which segued into 'A Flower Bloomed From the Earth', I got a review talking about how much of a 'sick and twisted individual' I was. **

*** grins * On with the show.**

* * *

The blazing sun shined along the sleek, glossy feathers of various birds as they flew across the blue, cloud-dotted skies above Washington, D.C. A glorious summer day: people standing in line to get into the latest action-packed blockbuster at the movies, mothers watching on as their children played in the local parks, the college-student trying to pay off a loan by walking five unruly dogs along the sidewalk.

And then, rushing down the pristine, freshly-paved roads, a brand-new 2013 Lexus LX. The ridges in the fresh, black rubber tires were still as thick as a man's forefinger, the rims as shiny as any new bride's engagement ring. The vehicle's smooth, stream-lined body had been glazed over in cobalt-blue, the blacked-out windows providing a stunning contrast that completed the vehicle.

Inside the impressive vehicle, gloved fingers rapped against the star-spangled steering-wheel to the rhythm of Bon Jovi, the driver of the car happily bobbing his golden-topped head...

When the car's built-in computer chimed, "Fuel-gauge at 15%. Please find a gas-station and refuel as soon as possible." The blonde youth driving the car bit his lip, trying to ignore the message. However, the car kept playing the message over and over; the computer's friendly robotic voice becoming damned near irritating before the blonde finally swerved into the nearest Chevron station.

The Lexus's driver's seat was swiftly kicked open, the blonde male allowing the sun to wash over peach-toned skin. Alfred F. Jones quickly adjusted his glasses as he walked over to the paying terminal where he gave a simple swipe of his debit card, typing in '$50.00' before walking back and starting the process of filling up the tank.

"God, this stuff always stinks so bad." The young personification of the United States of America grimaced as he forced the gas-nozzle into the car. Picking up the auto-fill latch, he allowed himself the leisure of leaning against his newest baby.

This car made... around fifteen he had at his Washington home. And he wasn't one of those guys who collected cars just because he had a hard-on for them, he actually used each of them on appropriate occasions. Honestly, one wouldn't take a Cadillac out on a fishing trip now, would they?

America's thoughts on the foul-smelling fuel and his new car were abruptly shattered when the pump stopped. "Already?" The blonde frowned, "That was fifty bucks, that should have at _least_ filled the tank!" However, when he looked at the pump-display, he nearly fell over at what he saw. He had indeed just paid fifty dollars...

But that only added up to just under eight gallons.

"Son of a..." Alfred couldn't even finish his sentence, he felt as if his throat had gone dry. He knew that gas-prices were getting bad, but this was ridiculous! He felt sick, that was the lot of it, he felt ill to his stomach as of that moment.

Luckily, he managed to get his bearings enough so he could hop back into his car and go home: his groceries were probably beginning to feel the heat of the summer day, even _in_ the luxury car.

* * *

"Tony!" America's voice called out as he carried the large bags of groceries over the threshold of his front door, Victorian home. "Tony, come up and help me with the food!" He gave a sigh of relief when he heard the familiar padding of Tony's feet across the floor. He still had to set the groceries down in the kitchen but at least his extraterrestrial roommate would handle the shelving and putting stuff away. Alfred then walked over to the fridge and pulled out what was left of a bucket of strawberry cheesecake ice cream.

"Did the whale get his exercise today?" He asked while trying to fish a spoon from one of the drawers. The small, grey alien tossed a few boxes of brightly colored cereal into the closet before replying,

"Not that he wanted to, pupu."

Alfred couldn't help the small chuckle that rose up from his chest: his house was so calm, so peaceful, even with his impromptu roommate and strange pet. The blonde swallowed down a mouthful of ice cream.

He was about to consider popping a DVD in and reclining back for the day when the house phone rang. Alfred wanted to let it go to the answering machine, he wasn't in the mood to here another person complaining about one thing or another.

It turned out to be his current boss though. Yet, America still couldn't be bothered even upon hearing Obama's voice speaking through the speaker.

"... It's time to once again enact Operation 'There Will Be Blood'..."

Both the ice cream and the spoon fell to the floor, Alfred standing perfectly still as Tony gently wrung his small, grey hands together. As the President's voice continued to roll from the speakers, Alfred's body did three things.

His eye twitched.

His breathing roughened.

And a strange sort of smile grew on his face.

* * *

"'Howdy!

You are cordially invited to celebrate the beginning of Summer at a pool party/barbeque to be hosted by the U.S. of A (Alfred F. Jones)! So bring your swim-trunks and empty stomachs and let's party-hardy!'"

That was the invitation that the Russian personification Ivan Braginski had received the previous week. At first, the tall, broad-shouldered, cream-haired nation wasn't even sure if he wanted to come to this celebration.

Though it had been a long time since the global nightmare of paranoia known as the Cold War, Ivan and Alfred were still on thin ice when it came to each other's company.

They _did_ share each other's beds and bodies every so often, But Russia highly doubted if their pasts would ever allow more than a short, bloody tryst between soiled sheets.

Nonetheless, he stepped out from the car that America had sent to get him. The younger male certainly was going all out for _this_ party, going as far as sending out chauffeurs to meet the nations as they arrived in the U.S. Capital.

Russia looked around, but he noticed something... off. Though the house in front of him was decorated roof to foundation in gaudy, 'tropical' bits and ends and music was blasting from the inside...

There were no other cars present. Part of his mind warned that he should remain wary, Ivan merely guessed that the other nations and guests were taking their own good time. Like they did whenever _he_ had a party.

He gave the door a quick rap, waiting for someone to answer. It took a few minutes but America soon swung the wooden door wide open. "Ivan! What's up buddy?"

"Shouldn't you be telling me?" The Slavic replied, "You were the one inviting me here to this... thing."

"Now, don't be like that!" Alfred laughed, "Go on and get dressed so you can join the party! Things are already in full-swing since England and Japan got a hold of the karaoke machine!"

"I will be sure to make use of my ear-plugs." Russia sighed as America let him inside.

* * *

A few moments later found Ivan in a pair of light blue swim trunks, a towel draped over his shoulders as he walked into the living room to try and find his 'gracious' host. While he walked, he still tried to find any sort of inkling as to who else was here: America was fine and all, but he would like to have someone to talk about intelligent matters with while the more energetic nations went about their business.

"Hey!" It was America: walking in with a tropical lei around his neck and two drinks in his hands, "Looking _good_ big guy! Thirsty?"

"Actually, yes." Russia gladly took the glass, heavily thirsting for anything alcoholic since the plane he had flown in on seemed to have some sort of God-forsaken dry-policy. He took a sip, quirking an eyebrow as he tasted something... _off_. There was some sort of cheap vodka, some fruity-sweetener of some sort... But there was also something else hiding among the other flavors. "Mrm..." He cleared his throat, "Who else is here America? You said something about England and Japan, da?"

The corner of Alfred's lip twitched upward ever so slightly, eyes narrowing to the smallest fraction, "Drink some more big guy, it's been a long trip."

Once again, Ivan simply shrugged and drank some more from the cup. Okay, that time his tongue really caught something in the beverage. "What _is_ this? One of your strange concoctions?" The soft flesh of the younger nation's lip was caught between his teeth,

"..Too many questions..." He shook his head, looking to the side to see how much of Russia's drink was gone. "Are you an angry man Ivan?"

"Angry?" Russia shook his head, "What would I have to be angry about at this moment?" Abruptly, Russia's head felt like he had been knocked for a loop. Clutching at the side of his head, violet eyes struggled to focus on what was going on: his vision blurring and warping.

The whole while, Alfred stood across from him: completely unfazed. "Америка..." Ivan gritted out, finding it hard to breath. As his large body keeled over to the floor, he finally realized that the strange taste in that drink must have been some sort of drug. His thoughts were confirmed when America smiled and turned his own glass over: sending its contents to the floor.

Russia struggled to find the strength to get back up, but his body had grown numb: his breathing far too slow to keep life in his body. With one final rasp, he passed out.

The blonde rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses with a "Finally." He dug into his the pocket of his trunks for his cell-phone, quickly dialing a number. "Yeah, it's me." He stepped over Russia's body, "Yeah, I need a transport to get these bodies out of here. ...Yeah, well, about that..." An agitated sigh left his lips, "It was _originally_ only supposed to be nine but there was an unforeseen... _annoyance_. Look, just get the transport here before this drug wears off, damn it!" With that Alfred hung up, muttering how hard help was to find these days.

* * *

His eyelids were heavy, as if burdened by lead weights when he tried to open them. It took a few good tries and even then he thought that something was wrong because their was hardly any light to be seen. "Someone slept like a baby, aru."

Russia quickly shot up, grabbing his head as he felt the rush of blood try to settle back. He was in a dark space with enough light to make out the outline of one's hands and not much else. The Slavic nation looked around before he managed to see the outline of a familiar body, "Yao?"

China nodded, not even trying to guess whether or not the other could see him. "And before you ask, I don't know where we are."

"Always the succinct one..." That voice was new yet familiar, Russia blinking, "Angliya?"

"God, it feels like I've been stuck on the wrong end of a cannon..." England's voice replied. However, Russia soon tired of the small talk.

"What is going on here? And who else is in here?" He stood to his feet and took careful steps once he noted he was without shoes. He could feel some sort of metal grating digging into the soles of his feet as he moved, but they soon met with something warm and solid. Two things actually: one smelling of dog and the other smelling like a Mediterranean. He gave a quick kick, not knowing which body was closer, and was rewarded with a panicked yelp of,

"Germany, I'm under attack again!"

"What in..." Germany's voice rasped out, the blonde slowly standing to his feet, "Where are we?"

China and England could only scoff, "Obvious questions from obvious people."

* * *

With a bit more clumsy maneuvering, Russia and Germany were able to find that the area's inhabitants included themselves, China, England, a disoriented France, a panicking Italy, Japan (that had been a shock, he had been so quiet) Canada, and Prussia (who had to be the one to identify Canada). Now the only thing was to figure out "What the bloody hell is going on here?" England asked the others, France groaning,

"I have no idea. The last thing I remembered was asking America to pour me a glass of wine." It finally clicked in the group's collective mind that their current situation had something to do with the one who had brought them all together.

"It would seem that the best course of action would be to find America-san." Japan spoke up, the others agreeing.

Not even a moment later, the area was washed over in bright, fluorescent lighting. The inhabitants of the space rushing to shield their eyes from the sensory onslaught. "Well looky here, y'all are up and ready to go!"

The lights dimmed a few degrees and allowed the possibility of sight once more. Under different circumstances, they would have noted how they were all dressed in nothing more than the swimwear from the party. But now wasn't the time for such details. "Alfred!" Canada called out. Indeed, the sun-kissed nation's silhouette could be seen through the powerful lights. However, there was something strange about the other. Something in his stance that... wasn't right. However, Canada didn't have much time to reason before Germany pushed him aside,

"Whatever joke this is, you need to..." His voice trailed off as his eyes, everyone's eyes, widened at the sight they were soon given.

Black.

On black.

On black.

America stood, dressed in a complete body-suit made of some sort of material that wasn't leather but not quite spandex; rougher, darker, exempt from light in its entirety. The jingling of steel drifted through the air from the chains that swung down from the ceiling and were attached to different places on America's body.

"Heh heh, sorry I was working when the sensors told me you all woke up." He combed through his hair, strange streaks of black staining his golden strands. "Haven't had time to... clean up."

England quickly stood to his feet, not even thinking on how he looked dressed in only a pair of Union Jack swim trunks. He stormed over towards the young blonde, "What the hell is going on here? Answer me – Shit!" England hissed as he walked into an unseen barrier. "What the hell..?" He whispered, checking to see if he had broken his nose.

"Patience is a virtue Artie," America wagged his finger as if he were admonishing a child, "A lame one, but still. Huh..."

"You are one to talk about virtues child!" China shouted, "Playing some sort of game, trapping us here. You've had your fun now let us out, aru-yo!"

Like a sapling in the desert winds, America's smile quickly faded. "Fun is the _last_ reason I'm here." He stepped forward, "To cut the bull, I _need_ you all to _help_ me _help_ the world." Alfred began, "Tell me, what is the most important thing in the world?"

The caged nations were silent for a moment before France guessed, "Money?"

"Food?" Italy chimed, "I'm pretty hungry myself right now, ve..." Finally, Russia looked towards America and stated,

"Energy."

"Ding-ding-ding!" America whooped and cheered, "We have a winner ladies and gentlemen! Yes, energy! _Fuel_! Pure, unadulterated fuel! It runs the world, people _kill_ for it! I invaded an entire region of the world for it! And not any of those crap alternatives either." He reached up towards his stained hair and used his nails to strain out some of the black, "I'm talking black gold honey: OIL!" The chains lifted him up so that he could stand on the high walls of the glass cage,

"God, this stuff is so amazing! Powers homes, factories, farms, but most importantly: _cars_! _Everyone_ needs a car, ha ha! But, as wonderful as the modern-car is, they _do_ have the problem of guzzling down barrels of this stuff year in, year out; month after month, day after day!"

"That's what all those drills are for, aren't they?"

"1894!" Alfred nodded, "The oil-rush! Good times, good times! But, did you know that all that drilling had a... bit of a side-effect?" Silence. "Do you know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night and be blinded by the blood of your own eyes?" The air was silent once more. "No? Well, _now_ you know why I wear _these_!" He gave a quick point to the glasses on his face.

"But what does any of that have to do with oil?" France asked, "With _us_?"

"Well, it brings up the question," America sighed, "What _is_ oil?"

Japan immediately stated, "The pressurized remains of prehistoric creatures. Such as dinosaurs, plants, and-"

"WRONG!" America cackled, "You couldn't be any more wrong you _stupid_ fuck!" A sigh, "But I guess _you_ all wouldn't understand. Grover, my former boss during the time, found it strange that _every_ time a new oil-well popped up, I would grow weak: bleeding in the oddest places... The pain was constant. He wasn't the best boss I'd ever had but, God damn if I don't thank him for giving me the greatest piece of information ever."

He jumped down from the wall, reaching into his boot and bringing out a hunting knife. "I'll tell y'all a secret. Big oil is closer to all of us than we realize..." Faster than anyone could comprehend, America stabbed the knife into his left hand: not even wincing as he began to slowly turn it around.

"What are you _doing lad_?" England screamed, mind unable to comprehend his son's actions, "Stop!" Alfred quickly pulled the weapon out, slamming his bleeding hand to the glass wall.

"_This_ is what everyone wants!" He ran his hand over the smooth surface, red following his movements, "Look! LOOK!"

"Al..." Canada gently spoke up, "Look, you're sick. You need help. So, why don't we stop with whatever's going on here and I'll set you up with one of my doctors, eh?" Alfred gave a slow, sad shake of his head,

"You just don't get it, do you?" Nevertheless, he held his head up... And actually began to _sing, _

"_**Now, a new car's tale isn't quite as nice **_

_**As the story we knew of glaze and price.**_

_**But gasoline's easy once you get to know it **_

_**With the help of the magic of a alien device!"**_

The area's lighting increased once more, now illuminating what couldn't be seen before. The space seemed to be designed after a painfully sterile opera hall. And, in the 'nosebleeds', a large group of children and preteens could be seen. Each of them, there had to be around fifty, were dressed in clean, pressed lab-coats. Though their eyes couldn't be seen through the dark goggles they wore, their gazes were focused on the computer-monitors in front of them.

But the one thing that would have made a lesser man piss his pants and sob for his mama like a baby, had to be the _machine_. That was the only way to describe the steel and glass monstrosity that stood in the center of the massive room on six, gnarled, robotic limbs. As the caged nations watched the new developments, America waved towards the machine, cooing, "Hi Tony~! How're you doing up there?" It was hard at first, but the small grey alien could be seen sitting in the small compartment on top of the gruesome, _rusted_ mechanical monstrosity.

"_THIS_," The joyous blonde waved a hand towards the beast, "Is going to be your good friend for the next few hours! Say hi and _**Let's delve deeper into energy philosophy:**_

_**Far beyond that of the world's mythology!"**_

"G-Germany..." Italy whimpered, clutching the other's arm, "Get me out of here. All shits and giggles aside, get me the _fuck_ out of here!"

"Ain't _nobody_," America shook his head, the chains lowering him so he could walk on his own, "Going _anywhere_! We still need to help the world, remember?"

England felt his blood boiling at all of this. He snapped at his son turned captor, "Fine then! Do you need us to work that wretched hunk of cogs and screws or what?"

"FUCKING _CHRIST_!" Alfred shrieked, pulling at his hair, "You bastards _never_ listen to me! What the _hell_ do you think I was trying to say for the past thirty minutes!"

"How are we supposed to know?" Prussia yelled, "You're going so bat-shit crazy that _no one_ can even understand you!"

Pressing his palms over his eyes, America shook his head, "_**It's easy to misjudge my golden cities,**_

_**With their alluring decor and social psychologies...**_Petroleum," America licked his lips, "In order to make enough gas to get the world through another year, I need petroleum. In order to get petroleum, I need to purify crude oil. And to get crude oil..." His lips twisted up into another manic grin, trembling as he giggled, "I need blood. The blood of _nations_!" His absurd laughs and cackles echoed through the air, overpowering the sounds of clicking keys and jingling chains.

Those in the cage could hardly believe their ears. They could still barely believe their eyes but hearing America sink further and further into this delusion; yes, that's what it _had_ to be... It was washing the arena over in dread.

"But..." Matthew shook his head, eyes watering with tears of tragedy instead of those of fear, "I'm your brother... God damn it, I'm your brother Al! If there was something going on to result in such a drastic measure, you should have told me! I'm your brother, I could have helped you!" America shook his head,

"_**But with all great things comes a great responsibility.**_

**_That of America's being fuel stability."_ **

"Mattie, Mattie, Mattie! You don't get it!" He added in a chuckle, blue eyes mad, "This has been going on for more than... _seventy-five years_!" The blonde snapped his fingers, whistling, "'Aolani!" The smallest child above, a girl with beach-kissed skin and raven-dark hair nodded as she clicked a few buttons: a section of the wall sliding away to reveal a large television-monitor.

The child clicked a new button before tossing a type of remote-control down to the black-clad nation. Alfred smirked before pressing the largest button.

The television lit up, showing black and white images. However, even before the images settled, voices could be heard.

"Alfred. Alfred, please!" Russia gritted his teeth as he recognized Lithuania. The calm, polite nation on the screen coughed out a splash of blood and a tooth. He had been brutally beaten, whipped, burned. Various lacerations criss-crossed over his chest and surely his back: he was chained to a wall, so they couldn't see. "I thought you needed my help!"

"I do." The America on the screen smiled, picking up what seemed to be an old baseball bat and slowly strolled over. "And I thank you for being _so_ understanding in all this. Let's get started, shall we?" Quick as whip, the blonde swung the bat across Toris's jaw and quickly moved to the rest of his body: slowly sending drops of blood to the grating below.

The video clipped out, fading into another set of footage. Screams of agony and anguish ripped through the thick air. The footage was that of the most charitable nation on earth Finland: the slim nation screaming and choking out blood, clawing at the floor as America kept trying to pull him back towards himself where he had an axe and glass jar ready to catch any blood or flesh that spilled onto the floor from his actions.

More and more footage flipped by: different nations, different decades, the tortures getting more extreme. To the point that retching and vomiting could be heard from the side of the cage: France lost it when he saw Seychelles, the poor girl, being beaten to a pulp and then practically cut apart like a Christmas goose.

"How the hell did you _do_ these things..?" France rasped, "How _could_ you? You are inhuman!"

"_**How, you ask, are they up to the task?**_

_**To which the answer is in a simple facility."**_ America calmly stated, Belgium's sobs of pain melding with the sounds of spilling blood behind him.

But now Japan had to ask, "If you have done all this, as you have said, for seventy-five years, then how come no one has spoken of your tortures!"

"Psh," Alfred rolled his eyes, "Ask Tony, he handles all of that brain stuff. And those little darlings up there," He pointed towards all the children, "Each have PhD's in medicine! Each and every one of them! We can't have any of you _dying,_ can we? Killing off an active petroleum supply, that would be just silly!" Germany only shook his head, muttering,

"You're sick."

However, those two simple words would prove to be the catalyst to break everything down.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TRY TO ACT LIKE YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!" America lost it, the chains rattling frantically, "YOU HITLER-FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! We've all seen the fucked up shit you and your brother did during World War II! All _I_ did was drop a fucking bomb!"

"_All_ you did?" Japan whispered in disgust, slowly shaking his head.

"SHUT UP YOU FUCKING JAP!" Alfred snapped before continuing, "I bet you get off to that shit every night, don't you? Auschwitz, Kulmhof, Janowska – I'M DOING THOSE DEAD JEWS A FAVOR!"

"Stress level reaching 80%." One of the childrens' voices echoed through the room, another stating,

"Distributing tranquilizer." The nations watched as a clear, plastic tube ended with a sharp syringe slowly descended from the dark abyss that was the ceiling. A moment later, it embedded itself into the ranting blonde's spine. An opaque liquid sloshed through the pipe, rushing into the body below. Immediately, Alfred stopped: calm, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he muttered small bouts of gibberish, eye-lids hooding over glossy blue irises.

It took a moment before the first voice called out, "Stress level successfully suppressed to 30%."

"Where was I?" America slurred out, whatever drug that had been injected still having a hold on his body as the syringe was pulled out. "Fuck it. Mama's still numb guys!" The chains went stiff, gently pulling the blonde a few feet into the air. "Getting off track here..." He whispered to himself, a bit of saliva dripping from his lips. "I've shot the shit for far too long with you guys... And besides," His sleepy face gave its best attempt at a smirk, "The Nazi just forced his pillow-biter friend there into an early grave. TONY!" He shouted, "The Italian one will go first! BRING HIM ON DOWN!"

"NO!" Germany quickly pushed Italy behind himself, protecting the auburn-haired male from anything that America tried to pull. The machine belched out a heavy cloud of steam, the screech of gears locking into each other and the push and pull of heavy steel levers drowned out everything else once the behemoth began to move forward.

The alien flipped a switch, the back of the machine opening up and releasing a series of slithering tubes that seemed almost animal-like. Another button was pressed inside of the control-panel, two of the tubes surging towards the inside of the cage. Though Germany had tried to defend Italy, he was easily thrown out of the way, Italy not having even a second to run before the other length wrapped around him and yanked him into the air.

"France! Japan! LUDWIG, HELP ME!" The auburn-haired male screamed, wincing as he felt the binding length of fiber-glass tighten around him to a bruising degree. Alfred gave a cold smirk: the Big Oil Circus could finally begin.

"We find the machine works better if we break a few bones before the extraction." America explained to the nations still in the cage, glaring at Germany before snapping his fingers. The tube tossed Italy into the air, two pincers unsheathing from the opening in the end to seize the nation by his arm before he hit the floor.

And then it swung down.

A savage crack resounded through the arena, a tortured plea for help ripping itself from Feliciano's throat. The tube picked him up again, this time slamming him against one of the walls, actually managing to leave an indent with the force that Tony put behind the blow. Then the tube flung Italy back to the floor: the Mediterranean youth coughing out a sanguine spray as all of these forced impacts had caused one of his recently broken ribs to puncture a lung.

"Hot damn!" America whooped, "We've struck oil! Keep it up Tony!"

"Stop it!" Germany demanded, eyes widening as the tube tossed Italy up in the air again, slamming him back down, and repeating the process as if he were nothing more than a rag-doll.

Again. A shard of bone ripping through Feliciano's skin, blood spilling onto his stomach and legs.

And again.

Finally, America called out, "That's enough, finish it." Tony nodded before pressing a new button. The tube from before lifted the near-comatose nation into the air. However,

As the sharp drill began spinning, gradually growing faster and faster, America spoke up again, "Now remember Tony: the grating only lets so much through to the purification plant. So, I don't care _how_ many times it takes, but get as much out of this pasta-sucking _bastardo_ as possible. Got it?" Tony nodded, pulling one of the control-levers forward: the drill surging forth.

Italy's amber eyes went wide: his body too weak to scream but not weak enough to ignore the white-hot pain of the drill forcing its way into his abdomen: shredding his skin and puncturing every organ it came into contact with.

The drill had another purpose though: everything it touched would be shredded and ground up into a thick, rosy sluice that would be sucked up the tube to which the drill had been attached and into one of the many glass vats on the machine's back.

And, just when one would think the torture was over from seeing the sluice run dry, Tony ripped the drill out just to force it into the the Italian's side: a new rush of bloody pulp being sucked up.

"I'll _KILL_ you for this America!" Germany screamed, he ranted, he raved: Prussia holding him back from doing anything stupid. "I'll fucking kill you! I'll shoot you between the eyes like the feiger hund (cowardly dog) that you are!"

All at once, as if Germany hadn't spoken at all, the machine retracted the drill: its work done. The other tube tossing Italy's body away as if he were nothing more than a soiled napkin. Feliciano fell to the floor with a sickening crack: his skull breaking apart in a mess of grey matter all over the floor.

"Oops." America blinked, quickly shrugging, "Oh well, not like he was that smart to begin with; a few more dead brains cells won't hurt him."

With that, the machine took a step towards the cage. "Well!" Alfred whistled, "I suppose we're off to a great start, huh guys?" China only shook his head,

"You're a _monster_!" To which America snapped back,

"And you're an old, stupid cunt!" He shook his head, getting a headache that would usually be sated by one harvesting. Perhaps it was because the people of his country were _still_ complaining about high gas prices. "I'm doing my best..." He seethed, burying his fingers into his hair, "Damn it, I'm trying! Why doesn't anyone understand that? Shut up..." He growled, "Shut up, shut up, _shut up_! Too much blame, not enough solution – Shut up, shut up!"

It seemed as if the movie-star nation was in some sort of heated argument with himself and three other unseen parties: the blonde pulled at his hair, gnawed his lower lip, and even hit his head with his clenched fists a few times. "1840 – or was it 1928? You _idiot_, it was 1940! A day that will live on in infamy – this _all_ started when that black cunt wouldn't get off of that damn bus! See, now this is why no one likes you; why do you have to bring race into everything? Stop talking y'all..." He whimpered, "Just stop talking... Shut up, shut up, shut up – SHUT UP!"

"If I may speak," One of the children in the nosebleeds began, "Perhaps another disbursement of the tranquilizer?"

"It would be in better standing to apply an endorphin-rush." Another child countered before one stated,

"A composition of both." A series of clicks upon keyboards sent the syringe-tube swinging back down. A sharp gasp from the American signaled that the needle had dug into his spine again, and the moment a new, clearish-blue solution was pushed inside, Alfred's body locked up... and then slumped over: chains keeping him from falling to the floor.

It truly seemed like the 'heroic' nation had sunk into a coma –

"_Fuck me_, that was good! God Russia, the next time we fuck just lube me up with this stuff! I feel like I'm having a constant orgasm like all those girls and Poland brag about!" Still on his constant high, America raised a dizzy finger towards the cage. "Eeny..." He slurred as his finger moved from Germany to Japan, "_Meeny..._", Canada to Prussia, _"Miney..._", England to China, "Homo!", finally landing on France. "Go get him!"

Francis immediately tried to make a run for it, but a new tube slithered over the glass wall and went straight for the romantic nation.

"I wonder how resilient your body is..." America mused, resting his fingers against his lips, "I've heard a lot about your history and can't help but wonder. Tony!" The grey head tilted towards his voice, "I want to see if we can't make our own version of _petit-fours _up in this bitch!" Tony nodded, going to work: pulling levers and pressing buttons. The machine responded by grabbing both of Francis's legs and his arms and forcing him into a spread-eagled position.

"America!" France shook his head, screaming out his best attempt at a negotiation, "I don't know what I can do but _don't_ do this! S'il vous plaît ma petit lapin?"

Francis was hoping that the fond use of a nickname long-since forgotten would get Alfred to lighten up to the idea of sparing him from a horribly painful fate. What actually transpired, however, was something else entirely.

The blonde youth's face went ruddy and dark with rage, his eyes shrinking into mere pin-pricks of blue before he shrieked, "TEAR THIS WINE-GUZZLING MOTHER-FUCKER APART!"

France gave a sharp, quick inhale as he felt the pull of the tubes slowly begin to increase. At first it wasn't anything too harsh, the worst thing was America's eyes always on him. Then, it increased again: the tubes tardily digging into his wrists and ankles.

The machine released a heavy hiss, one thinking that it was about to shut down. But no, it simply had released a bit of steam so it's gears could truly get to work. France let out a choked scream when he felt his limbs being stretched from him: the ligaments in his bones straining to keep up. This was followed by the bones popping out of the respective sockets, skin and muscle being the only ties that the limbs had to the body until, finally...

With inhuman screams bouncing off of every corner, blood rained down to the grating as France's legs and arms were torn from his body. His torso fell to the floor, the once soft, seductive eyes now blank slates of blue forever stuck in an expression of pain and fear.

"Alfred, _why_?" Canada sobbed, falling to his knees; not knowing how to handle the sight in front of him, "Tell me _why_?"

"Don't blame me." Alfred's voice was shallow, almost nonexistent as he lowered his head, as if in mourning.

Half a second he snapped it back up, glaring at the other nations in the cage, "Don't you _FUCKING_ blame _me_ for this! No one wants to buy an electric car!" Blue eyes circled around their sockets, the blonde bursting out into laughter, "No one... wants to buy an electric car!"

The laughter grew and grew until it reached a fevered pitch, black-stained hands reaching up and pulling at his hair, "NO ONE WANTS TO BUY A _FUCKING_ ELECTRIC CAR!" The manic blonde cackled long and hard, throwing his head back and laughing on.

England had long since lost his tolerance: the two corpses on the ground being a clear sign that this madness needed to stop. In the corner of his eye, America say him about to say something. He quickly snapped out of his laugh-trance and beamed, "And, oh! By the way, I have a surprise for you England!"

"I don't want ANYTHING from you!" Arthur roared, "I don't even want to claim you as my blood after all this!"

"Oh, what, and you think I _liked_ having you as a parent? I was better off with Grandmother Spider..." He trailed off, remembering his beautiful mother: her sun-weathered skin and dark, dark hair **( 1 )**. America shook his head, snapping a finger so the chains could lift him up to the balconies.

For a moment, the others thought that they had been spared. They allowed themselves a moment's breath – Just to have it shattered when the screams and sobs of a young boy could be heard:

"Lemme go! Lemme go ya wanker!"

"Dear God, please no." England shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. The chains returned, carrying Alfred so that he _floated_ just above the foul machine. And he wasn't alone.

"Guess who wanted to join the party?" America laughed, holding a panicking Sealand by the scruff of his neck. "I haven't used anyone _this_ small since Latvia a few years ago. But since someone is _so_ eager to join the world of big, _strong_ nations, _how_ could I resist?"

Rushing over to the glass wall, England slammed his fists against the confining surface, crying out, "Put him down! Damn you, put him down!" America ignored his father-figure, turning Sealand around to face him,

"You're a big boy, ain't ya?"

"Put me down..." Peter demanded, his voice losing its volume as he felt the pressure of America's eyes directed solely at him.

But America never removed his gaze, instead he whispered, "Open it up Tony. Open it." A new cloud of smoke wallowed up from the steel beast. Its back slowly opened up with the help of many gears and levers, revealing a writhing, clicking jungle of circular saws, hooks, and stainless-steel hammers.

It was obvious that what was first thought of as rust coating the machine was, in fact, blood: flakes of the coppery substance falling to the floor as the machine moved. "You know," America hummed, smirking when he felt that the small youth had lost control of his bladder at the sight of the machine, "My kids had to work day in and day out to put Latvia back together after this machine was through with him. Sure, he has some nerve-damage that makes him do that _stupid_ shivering thing all the time, but he's alive and ready to be harvested another day! But you..."

He tilted his head, "You're not even a real nation. You're nothing more than some shitty little fort that England made to float his ego for a bit and then forgot about. You wouldn't be worth the trouble. I pity you, I really do." He looked off into space, just beyond the small blonde's ear. "Which is _part_ of the reason I'm doing this."

Before Sealand could even think to scream 'England, help me' America had loosened his grip: sending the boy into a deadly descent down, down, _down_ into the belly of the iron beast.

A single, drawn out excruciated squall pierced each and every one of the arena's inhabitants down to their souls. The saws were quickly stained red as they worked, the hooks ripping apart any ligaments or long pieces of muscle and skin, and the mallets proceeded to crush organs and bone into the pulp and mash that had once been a body: all of it pouring down into the machine's many vats.

The only thing that caught anyone's eye after that gruesome spectacle was America himself. The land of the free and home of the depraved watched the scene, his face and upper body stained and dripping crimson, the only contrast being the white of his perfect teeth.

Below, Canada saw England sink to his knees: grassy eyes wide and in a constant state of horror and sheer anguish reflecting the state of his heart and mind. "OH NO..!" Arthur wheezed, hardly able to breathe through his screams and weepings, "GOD NO – WHY?"

"Geez..." Alfred frowned, "You're acting like all of the rum's gone or something." He stayed there, suspended in the air by the rattling chains. Then, a thought. "Well," He licked his bloody lips, "If you miss him so much than _come on down and join him Artie_!"

With its back still open, the machine launched a tube towards England, not even taking the glass into account as it crashed through: seizing the blonde gentleman by his waist: immune to any attempts of escape that Arthur tried, scratching, punching, kicking at air.

Emerald eyes went wide as he saw that he had been suspended over the machine. "Don't worry Artie," Alfred grinned, "I won't let the machine go higher than your stomach."

"America!" England shouted, "I demand that you put me down this _instant_! This is insane!"

"'There's a fine line between genius and insanity' Artie." America grinned, tightening the grip on one of his chains, "'I have erased this line'. **( 2 )**" The tube then began to descend: bringing England's body closer and closer to the rotating blades.

"God help me..." Arthur whispered, his prayer drowned out by the whirring of the razor-sharp blades. America smirked,

"God save the queen indeed."

First England's feet were devoured by the trap the razors slicing through the sensitive skin of his heels before digging into bone: everything slithering down into the bowls of the machine. A splatter of bile shot forth from his lips, nerves reacting to the pain as the razors reached up to his shins.

By the time the rotating saws got to his knees, all Arthur could do was beg for death. He needed the pain to stop! Even if it meant succumbing to death's cold grasp. "Francis..!" He choked out in a sob, reddish vomit dotting his lips "You lucky BASTARD!"

The razors made quick work of his knees and thighs and, as if his prayers had been answered, by the time the blades reached his torso and the tender meat of his intestines, Arthur lost consciousness: his eyes frozen in an expanse of pain.

Tony ripped the upper-remains of England's body away from the machine, flinging him to the floor where he rolled until he was a few feet away from France's dripping torso. However, while America's attention was diverted, Germany turned to the remaining few and spoke, as gently as his hoarse voice could muster, "If we hurry, we could try to escape. Look!" He budged his head towards the back of the arena, "There are no doors. He must leave them open in case he needs help. Now that the cage is shattered, we need to take any chance and -"

"Westen!" Prussia shouted, Germany hardly able to turn his head before a tube slithered over and grabbed the Aryan nation by his feet and whipped him into the main area. When he could think again, the force with which he was pulled causing a bit of a head-rush, Ludwig looked up and saw the creaking, dripping behemoth of steel on one side... and blood-spattered glasses on the other.

"Fucking Nazis always have to make shit difficult..." With that, America pulled the chain. It was clear like a torrent of rain... But as it fell upon Ludwig, it burned with all the fires of hell: eating away at his skin and running down into the grated floor below. Germany's tormented howls, like a dog begging to be put out of its misery, occupied the air. America went on to snap, "Do you know how _hard_ it is to separate blood from acid and _then _synthesize that tainted blood into oil? IT'S HARD! _Unnecessarily_ hard!"

Ludwig could barely hear the ranting nation: perhaps the combination of the acid melting away his ears and the sting of his flesh falling off of his bones was over-riding his senses.

While China was an inconsolable mess of panic and fear, pulling his hair and sobbing like a child at the thought of death and the sight of all the blood, no one noticed a missing party. However, Canada was finally able to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Germany dissolving away and he looked up towards the machine to see that Japan had managed to climb up the chains swinging behind Alfred with a piece of glass in his hands. He was barely able to conceal his gasp, amethyst eyes widening until -

"The _fuck_?" America gasped as he looked down and saw a piece of glass that had been stabbed into his side, right through his suit. He felt no pain, he felt no fear. All he felt at that moment...

Was _rage_!

"_FUCKING_ JAP!" He howled, reaching behind him to grab Kiku before he could pull off anything funny. Japan struggled against his strong grip, America not letting up an inch as the chains lowered them both to the ground.

Kiku winced as he felt glass cutting at his feet, but he wouldn't feel it for long. Alfred giggled, _giggled_, pulling back his fist and sending a powerful punch into the other male's stomach. He didn't even wince as a few drops of blood sprayed over his eyes. America went straight into grabbing Japan by his hair and pushing him into the pile of broken glass, quickly landing on his back and forcing his face into jagged shards. Alfred went straight to work, harshly chafing Kiku's face against the grating and glass: blood and bits of skin beginning to catch on the floor. As he worked, getting to work with his _own_ hands after God knew how long, America couldn't help but smile.

"I'm going to scrub your your disgusting, rice-picking face from the history books Japan! Like I meant to do during World War II!" So into his task, he didn't feel fists beating on his back.

"Get off of him!" China screamed, trying to get America away from his son, "Get off aru!" Alfred let up for a second just to swing an arm, knocking Yao eight feet away. He went straight back to what he was doing and he didn't stop until he felt the body beneath his stop moving.

He struggled to pull Japan's head up, skin and tissue catching onto the grates and ripping away before he managed to lift the Japanese male's face and see the deep lacerations and wagging flesh. Then he turned around to face his elder. "Tony..." He whispered, holding his hand out to the side, "Give me a saw." The alien nodded, pressing a series of buttons before one of the circular saws reached out from the machine and landed into the blonde's hands.

"Now..." Alfred hummed, spinning the circular saw around, "Can you tell me what _this_ is China? I mean, since you're _so_ wise!"

"G..." Yao gulped, backing away from the other, "Get the hell away from me aru-yo..." Alfred stepped forward. Yao moved back. Alfred stepped forward once more, this time kicking the ancient nation onto his back. The blonde hefted the circular-saw up and laughed,

"Let's get cooking dragon-boy!", before swinging the saw down like a pendulum. The first swing broke through the soft, pale skin that China had a penchant of bragging about. "Huh." America pursed his lips as he saw China trying to crawl away. He quickly kicked him back over so his wound was visible, swinging the saw back down as he began, "You always used to call me fat, huh? Yet, looking at _you_," He swung again, crimson sap and pink tissue flying over the shattered glass, "_You're_ the chubby one! Look at all this _flab_!"

"STOP!" Yao screeched as the saw swung into his vital organs. But Alfred didn't let up: he kept on performing his own rendition of The Pit and the Pendulum until the screams stopped. He panted, looking down at his work: China's body completely ripped in two and his blood streaming into the abyss below.

"Pardon me for interrupting," One of the children's voices called down from above, a girl with a southern lilt to her voice, "But it seems that while you were playing with that Chinaman, the rest of our reservoirs escaped."

"SAY WHAT?" America snapped, whipping his head around and finding that what the girl had said was true. Well, mostly. He blinked as he saw a familiar face with wavy hair that was a golden hue rather than his own corn-yellow. "Oh!" America sneered as he led Tony and the machine towards the meek-nation, "So you're not going to run? You just might have more balls than the rest of our so-called _friends_!"

"No Alfred," Matthew shook his head, his voice scarcely above a whisper, "I'm not going to run." His nerves were screaming for him to run, flee, to put as much space between himself and his brother as possible. But he didn't listen. Bare feet slowly moved Canada's body towards the black-clad blonde, his voice shaky as he spoke, "I'm not afraid of you. I could never find it in myself to hate you. Those nights where we danced under the stars before England and France came..." He gave a shaky sigh, "Nothing could ever take that away."

America's entire frame went still when he felt warm arms around him: Canada had moved quicker than he had realized. "You're only doing this because you _have_ to. I know that if it weren't for _them_..." He was quiet for a moment, letting that word hang in the air, "You would never resort to such a ghastly thing."

Canada licked his lips, taking a few seconds to settle himself for what he was about to say, "So I'm not going to run. I won't let you go through this alone anymore. But _please_..." He begged, shoulders trembling as tears fell from his eyes, "_Please_ make it so it won't hurt. I can handle anything except for pain Al, you know that. Please don't let it hurt... Please don't let it hurt, _please..._"

"Mattie..." America whispered, wrapping his arms around his brother, "Oh Mattie, my best baby bro forever. How..." Alfred's breathing slowed and his heart-rate managed to regulate. He closed his softening, baby-blue eyes and a single tear dropped down his face. The eyes reopened, cold and fierce, "How _dare_ you try and get me to make a promise I can't keep!"

He shoved Canada to the floor, stomping a heavy boot into his chest to keep him still while he signaled for Tony to come closer. "Alfred, let me go!" Matthew yelled, scrambling to get America off of him. The machine lugged itself over, the drilling-tube lowering into Alfred's hands from above. "Please, God no! PLEASE!"

"OPEN UP!" The manic blonde cackled, stomping his foot into his brother's groin. The shock of pain forced a yelp from Canada's lips, giving Alfred the opportunity to force the drill into the northern nation's mouth: muffling agonized screams as pulp and sluice was sucked down the pipe, saliva being coughed out to coat the tube and, ironically, give Alfred an easier time of pushing the pipe down his brother's throat.

The last thing Matthew remembered was his brother's tear-stained face twisted into a frenzied grin, his eyes glacial as he seemed to glare right into his brother's very soul.

And then... darkness.

* * *

**In the Petroleum Factory, where your fears and horrors come true...**

**In the Petroleum Factory, where not a single soul gets through...**

* * *

The inner workings of this place, this hell, this _factory_ seemed like a strange, sinister jungle of steel and ceramic vats: foul-smelling steam billowing out from random places at random intervals.

The booming of hammers further crushing organ and bone pulp into a liquid state almost, but didn't quite, obscure the rapid approach of footsteps. They abruptly stopped, Prussia whipping his head through the dim lighting, "Wait. Wait just a verdamten moment! Where's Matthew?"

"There is no time!" Russia snapped, "We have to get out of here as quickly as possible if we are wanting to survive!" Prussia shook his head, turning around,

"I'm going back-"

"Like hell you are!" Ivan hissed, seizing the other's arm, "I will _not_ be put at risk for someone who is probably already _dead_!" Gilbert slowly shook his head.

"You don't think that... America would kill his own brother..?" The albino gulped, "Do you?" Russia merely replied,

"Did you not see what he did to England and France? What would make Canada so special?"

"Mein Gott..." Prussia snatched his arm away, taking a few shallow breaths, "What the hell is all of this Russia? America's a _kid_, he shouldn't be anywhere _near_ this fucked up!"

Russia shook his head, not knowing how to reply to that question. In reality, age mattered as little as race when it came to a nation's sanity. He sometimes thought that it must be what God feels, not that he believed in him: constantly subjected to the pain of those whom you're supposed to be protecting. To constantly be blamed and cursed when even the smallest thing goes wrong. It was truly maddening.

However, he was _not_ about to feel sympathy for the person who had nothing on their mind at the moment other than siphoning out his blood. "Let us go."

Prussia bit his lips, thinking for a moment before he nodded, "Fine."

* * *

The more they walked, the more entangled they seemed to get in the dark, hyper-industrial maze: the smell of gasoline and rotting flesh becoming all too apparent the longer they were down in the belly of the proverbial beast.

The two men were carefully making their way across a flimsy bridge that seemed to be put together with bits and pieces of scrap metal and old wood. Russia was a good few paces ahead of Prussia, the albino too paranoid about the flimsy state of the bridge. "The longer you are taking, the higher the chances of the bridge collapsing will be!" Russia snapped, his patience worn down to the nub, "Now hurry up!"

"Fuck off!" Prussia snapped, but took two more careful steps forward. "You cross the bridge _your way_, and _I'll_-"

At that moment, the area of the bridge beneath Prussia's feet collapsed: the albino struggling to get a grip on any part of the bridge that was still stable. "Shit..." Russia hissed, carefully lowering himself and holding out a hand towards the other, "Grab my hand!"

Gilbert nodded, reaching a hand towards Ivan's offer of safety.

He flinched as he heard a creak, unlike the sound of a falling bridge, but that of... machinery. Then, with a monstrous roar, three tubes from America's machine shot up through the bridge and, after wrapping around Prussia's body, dragged him down into the chasm.

"Damn!" Ivan slammed his fist against the bridge, shaking his head free from the spell that the echoes of Prussia's screams had put him. There was no time for remembrance, not that he would in any case; he needed to get out of here.

The mixture of paranoia and the flood of adrenaline in his system was making Ivan dizzy. The steel pipes, the cramped, dark, damp area and its foul smell not helping matters in the least. He leaned against a nearby layer of piping to catch his breath.

Inhale... Exhale...

Inhale... _Exhale_...

_Inhale..._

"Excuse me, maybe you can help me out."

America's voice echoed through the halls, causing Russia to flinch before he opted to keep running. As he moved, America could still be heard talking to no one in particular, "I lost my teddy bear, you see. He's a big, clumsy oaf of a thing but he has the _prettiest_ purple eyes this side of the Mississippi!"

"Damn!" At that moment, Russia decided to run for it. To hell with strategy, if he could move fast enough he might just stay a good set of paces ahead of his hunter, he could avoid being prey.

"IVAN BRAGINSKI!" A wretched scream tore through the halls, everything quaking: pipes shaking free from their fixtures. Russia, to his dismay, let out a bark of pain when a plume of steam broke free from a loose pipe. It left the skin of his arm scalded and blazing red.

And then, cataclysm.

With a sound of crunching steel and shattering glass, America broke through a nearby wall of piping. His blue eyes were wide, pupils reduced to the tips of pins as he whipped his head around, trying to root Russia out. A quick turn to the left gave him the desired result. "Found you _Vanya_..." He laughed, taking a step forward.

Ivan bolted down the hall, Alfred giving chase. Escape, escape, escape! That was the only message flooding his synapses: his feet pounding against the steel flooring.

Rather than navigate around, America simply forced his way through steel and glass: too far gone to realize whenever he would be burned or cut. Though Russia was too busy running for his life, he occasionally looked back to see just how close the other was.

And his heart nearly stopped. Only this time, not out of fear. America chased him down, chains from the ceiling and the tubes from the machine fanning out behind the blood-stained youth like wings. And when he crashed through another series of piping, pitch-black oil spraying all over him; the result of this evening's work.

He was _stunning_, Russia thought.

"GET OVER HERE, DAMN IT!" America screeched, breaking Russia's thoughts. "Come on! I'm _this_ close to making a quota! STOP RUNNING!"

The Slavic nation didn't stop, he didn't even consider the action as he turned the following corner... Just to meet a dead-end. "Nyet..." The cream-haired nation shook his head, "How is this? This wall wasn't here before, I _counted_ my paces!"

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, when he heard the youth's laughter behind him. Slowly turning around, his purple eyes looked into Alfred's predatory blue. He stalked Russia down like some sort of rabid wolf who had finally succeeded in cornering its next meal.

Yet, he couldn't deny how _beautiful_ he looked. In fact, despite his quickly approaching demise, Russia took the time to clear his mind and _think_. Just _why_ was America committing these atrocious acts?

It was because it was _needed_. He himself had done similar, yet not _nearly_ as gruesome, things in his past. When it came to the well-being of one's people and family, reason gave way to practicality. He finally turned around to face the other: face to face with a more cunning, beautiful version of himself and his own morals.

"Any last words?" The oil-drenched America grinned, pinning the larger nation down with his hungry, wild gaze, "You fat, miserable, drunken _fuck_ of a nation?"

Russia quietly held up four of his fingers before whispering, "You _are_ an _angel_."

America surged forward.

* * *

The chirping of canaries and finches could be heard by a bedroom window draped over with the softest red and baby-blue curtains. The soft sunlight washed into a large, open bedroom: lighting the way to the two bodies laying in the king-sized bed.

The larger body was that of Ivan Braginski, the representative to the Russian Federation. His body was buried into the rich, decadent covers of the bed: the sun beckoning for him to awaken but his body not wanting to move.

A moment later, the second body moved up to rest upon their hands. Sky blue eyes looked at the other through corn-yellow locks of hair as Alfred F. Jones, personification of the United States, smiled, "Morning big guy." He leaned over and kissed Ivan's forehead, "Come on, time to get up."

Russia slowly shook his head, "Nyet... Too tired. Allow me to sleep for a few minutes more solnyshko..." Though he wanted to whine and pout, America nodded and stood to his feet in a pair of star-spangled boxers.

"I'll go down to the kitchen then," He chuckled, "I think I want pancakes. They won't be as good as my baby bro's but you're free to have some whenever you wake up!"

". . ." Russia didn't respond, it was as if he was dead to the world as America walked out of the room.

Bacon sizzled on a piping-hot griddle while pancakes cooked to a golden brown in the pan next to them on the stove. Alfred worked at the task at hand with a smile on his face, goose-stepping around Tony who sat at the table with a glass of orange juice and a couple of aspirin.

Large red eyes glanced over to the blonde and spoke, "All that screaming gave me a headache, pupu..." Alfred gave a simple shrug of his shoulders, almost ignoring his extra-terrestrial roommate.

He quickly flipped the pancakes onto a plate, coupling them with some bacon before walking to the living room. He had left a big plate of pancakes and sausage warming on the stove for the man currently unconscious in his bed. But, right now, he needed a bit of time for himself.

"There we go..." He sighed as he took a seat on the love-seat, "Time for my hour of CNN before getting to work." Alfred reached between the couch cushions and pulled out the remote and turned on the plasma-screen in front of him.

His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat while his eyes skimmed over the scrolling marquis on the news network. "Tony," He called back into the kitchen, his eyes never leaving the screen, "We got anymore orange juice left?"

"Yeah, pupu!"

America nodded, "Good.", his lips curling up into a malicious smile, "Save some for Russia, would ya? He's gonna need it." He then turned back to the TV where a female newscaster happily spoke about how, for the first time in about twelve years, gas prices had finally dropped below two dollars.

* * *

**A/N: **

**( 1 ) Sorry, a bit of my headcanon got inserted there. I **_**do**_** believe that England and France **_**raised**_** America and Canada. But I can't get it out of my mind that the two were born to and originally brought up by Native America and Native Canada. That's just me.**

**( 2 ) This quote is from American composer and pianist Oscar Levant. **

**Also the lyrics that kept appearing were a slightly edited version of the 'Rainbow Factory' song. That song has inspired a fanfic, a music video, a new canon for MLP, etc.  
**

**And now, most likely because I've been hyper-critical of my fics because I'm in the process of getting some of my original stories published, I'm going to do a quick-over... **

**This story kind of fell apart near the end. I don't know why, but that's how it felt to me. For some reason, it also feels kind of rushed after the main part. And also a bit long but I myself wouldn;t know where to divide it so, that's my fault. Well, I hope that you all were able to get through it! Thanks for reading, please review! Please? * puppy-dog eyes ***

**-Tyranno's girl.  
**


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